


By the Sea

by billiethepoet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Diogenes Club, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billiethepoet/pseuds/billiethepoet
Summary: This is the unbetaed result of the flash fiction panel at 221bCon.My prompts were:Eurus HolmesSebastian MoranThe Diogenes ClubSoulmatesYikes.





	By the Sea

Opening the Diogenes Club to non-members had been a colossal mistake. It was only a trial, and the code of conduct remained firmly in place, but prioritizing revenue and membership numbers over tradition left a bad taste in Mycroft’s mouth. 

His mood was not improved by the fact that he failed to check his diary and had not noticed that the opening of the Diogenes Club coincided with the first off-site visitors’ day for the Holmes family. 

Eurus had been doing well and his parents wanted to see their daughter outside the confines of a prison. Mycroft didn’t like the idea, but Mummy was adamant. 

It was this or Les Miserables again. 

The Stranger’s Room at Diogenes was the best option for their meeting. Neutral territory but secure. And now only a wall away from who knew how many members of the public trolling his beloved club. 

He had a headache and Sherlock and Eurus hadn’t even started scratching on their violins yet. 

John sat off to the side, always present at Holmes family events but also always a bit distant. Mycroft was sure John and Sherlock both preferred it that way. Greg was more integrated with the family, mainly because Mycroft couldn’t stop him. Mummy and Greg got on smashingly. It was irritating. 

But Greg was working today and hadn’t been keen on Eurus anyway. The words branded into his forearm, Scotland Yard here, itched. They were always uncomfortable when Greg had been gone for too long. 

The violins started and his headache again too precedence over the irritation around his soulmark. 

Soulmarks were always a tricky business. Mycroft had grown up with those words along his arm, picturing the strong and handsome police officer he would one day meet. He even took on the responsibility of liaisoning between Scotland Yard and the home office early in his career just so he’d increase his chances of meeting his soulmate. 

Sherlock’s soulmark had been a cause for concern. Here, use mine could have all sorts of meanings and contexts, especially when one was a teenager with a taste for older men and later an adult with a taste for sharing needles. But it had been about a damn mobile in the end. 

No one had been concerned about Eurus’s soulmark. It was the mundane sort of conversation people had all the time. Sorry, was looking for the loo. The ordinary-ness of it angered Eurus as a child.

As far as Mycroft knew, Eurus had never found her soulmate. Well, maybe she had but she’d likely killed them. Maybe even eaten them, who’s to say. 

The pocket door to The Stranger’s Room came sliding open and thumped loudly when it reached the end of its track. In the doorway stood a very rough-looking man. His clothes were dirty, his face was covered in uneven stubble, and his blond hair looked matted. 

This is what happened when you let anyone come into your club. 

“This is a private room.” Mycroft let all his authority drip from his words. 

“Sorry, was looking for the loo.” The man’s east London accent was so thick, Mycroft had almost missed the words. 

He may have come looking for the loo but now he was staring at Eurus. 

Eurus stared back, violin hanging from her hand and eyes wide. “You’re not allowed to speak.” 

The man grinned. Mycroft thought he was missing a tooth and at least one more was capped in gold. He rolled up his sleeve to show his own soulmark covered in scars. “No one tells me when I can and cannot speak, love. Tried to cut it away.” 

Eurus took a step forward, rattling her leg shackles, and held out her own scarred arm. “Burned mine for being ordinary.” 

“Nothing ordinary about me.”

“Good.”

Mycroft realized his own mark had stopped itching and throbbing like an infected wound. He had only a few second to process what that meant before Greg’s head popped up in the doorway. 

“Sebastian Moran, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder-”

“Moran!” Sherlock stepped forward and John reached for his gun. 

“Sebastian.” Eurus murmured.

“Assassination of a government official-”

Eurus stepped forward again but Greg had already pulled Moran’s arms behind his back to be handcuffed. The soulmark was out of sight. 

“I’m in a maximum security psychiatric prison. Can you get sent there?”

Moran grinned again and Mycroft could almost smell his putrid breath. “I can do some convincing, yeah.” 

“Jesus Christ, it’s like psychopaths day out,” John muttered. 

“We can get adjoining cells. It’s not so bad there. It’s by the sea.” 

“It’ll be a holiday, my sweet.” 

Greg yanked Moran into the hall. Onlookers had gathered, both strangers and Mycroft’s club acquaintances. He would never live this down. 

Greg handed Moran off to a uniformed officer. Mummy grasp Eurus’s arm to keep her from following, as if she was in some sort of trance. 

“Ah, sorry, everyone. Sorry Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. We’ve been chasing him all morning and finally realized he’d ducked in here.” Greg rubbed at the back of his head in a way that Mycroft always found endearing. “Security at the front wasn’t what it usually is, yeah?” 

They were never opening the Diogenes Club to the public again.


End file.
